


moonlit dreams

by zenosungs (pastelkoma)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Late at Night, M/M, Sleepy Kisses, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely, iwaizumi loves him, oikawa tooru is dumb, theyre just not teens lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelkoma/pseuds/zenosungs
Summary: “Stop talking,” Iwaizumi groans, eyes narrowing in a way that makes moonlight bounce off the whites of his irises, and Oikawa thinks that his Iwa-chan really looks like some sort of angel. “And stoppouting.It’s annoying. Unless you want me to kiss that stupid pout off your face, huh?”So blatant—This time it’s Oikawa’s turn to stumble on his words. “Ah, oh, ha, jeez—Iwa-chan says some weird stuff during the late night hours, huh?”(OR: Oikawa can't sleep, Iwaizumi can, but he's not going to until his dumbass of a boyfriend does.)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 233





	moonlit dreams

**Author's Note:**

> just me being indulgent and tired of school TvT
> 
> this is literally 3k words of fluff and weird metaphors about stars and moonlight and sleepy idiots in love 
> 
> enjoy :>

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Oikawa Tooru is kind of dumb.

Well, that’s already been _established,_ of course—especially when Iwaizumi has a very nice habit of reminding the brunet every time Oikawa opens his mouth—but he’s honestly, truly, spectacularly kind of dumb.

Except tonight, not only is he feeling dumb as he attempts to tiptoe past a fast asleep Iwa-chan, but he is also feeling exhausted; the weariness weighs down at his bones and drops off every last corner, soaking the floor and leaving footprints in his wake. Tonight he’s dumb and he can’t sleep, which are _two_ struggles, and Oikawa doesn’t appreciate more than one difficult struggle per day.

Meaning it’s probably 2 in the morning and he has already used up his struggle quota.

It wasn’t entirely his fault—it had been a sleepless night even up until now, and absolutely fucking nothing was working to help him drift off, which in turn he began to whine about it to Iwaizumi (he got a knock to the forehead for it, like he expected). Even when Iwaizumi took some pity on him and tried to accommodate the room for Oikawa just in case it was too hot, too cold, too stuffy to sleep—he still couldn’t. He still _couldn’t_.

 _“This is what happens when you don’t fit sleep into your schedule that well, Trashykawa,”_ Iwaizumi has reprimanded as Oikawa hung his upper body over the side of the bed, head upside-down as he began to whine again. Iwaizumi had grunted before speaking once more, _“Because you haven’t been sleeping well so your body just doesn’t want to sleep at all now.”_

(Oikawa isn’t entirely sure if that’s how it works, but. Oh, well.)

Oikawa had stuck his tongue out at Iwaizumi for the halfhearted lecture, which had taken place over an hour ago now. _Now_ , it’s later in the night and dumb and restless and now Iwaizumi drifted off so now he’s alone, too.

_But at least Iwaizumi is still here with him—_

Iwaizumi, who is brusque by nature, _especially_ with Oikawa, who is at the receiving end of a rebuttal every five minutes. But Iwaizumi is melted silver; iridescent and soft at the creases, even with Oikawa, _especially_ with Oikawa, and this much was evident earlier when he had granted the brunet with a soft kiss on the forehead and a, “If you close your eyes, you’ll fall asleep soon enough, Shittykawa.” It’s strange to any outsider, but Iwaizumi loves Oikawa with all of his melted silver soul, one hidden behind that rock-hard brusqueness.

Except he was wrong, because Oikawa closed his eyes but he didn’t fall asleep soon enough. 

So that led him to his current preposition: Iwaizumi had fallen asleep despite trying to stay awake with Oikawa, and Oikawa needed to get up and _move_. 

That’s why he wriggled out of Iwaizumi’s brawny arms that were very nearly suffocating him, and that’s why he’s tiptoeing across the hardwood floors, muscles screwed tight and desperate so as to not wake up Iwaizumi. The older boy is a generally light sleeper, especially if he notices something is amiss. Oikawa would like to think that not being snuggled up with him falls under that category. 

While Oikawa obviously prefers to be snuggled up with Iwaizumi (though he may not look it, Iwa-chan truly does give the best snuggles, and Oikawa wonders if his very muscular build contributes to that), something about the stars scattering the sleepless night—outside sky painted cherry blossoms—tell him that he’s not going to be drifting off anytime soon, so he may as well walk around. Clear his head, or something.

A glance to the window, a glance to Iwaizumi. 

His arms are still in the position they had been when he was holding Oikawa close, fingers twitching from time to time, and holy _fuck,_ with the way violet spills across his face, soaking into golden-tanned skin and decorating soft lips and the edges of long eyelashes fluttering against star-adorned cheeks, Oikawa can’t help but think about how absolutely _beautiful_ he is. 

(Though it’s nothing new, of course. Oikawa is a twenty-something year old in a twenty-something year but one thing has never changed; it’s how terrifyingly captivating Iwaizumi Hajime is.)

“Iwa-chan is cute,” Oikawa huffs softly to himself, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips. He lets his gaze linger for far too long, taking note of the way Iwaizumi’s nose scrunches from time to time and the soft puffs of breath coming from slightly-parted lips, before he turns and begins to tiptoe again.

The hardwood floors creak. They live in a little apartment complex, somewhere in between the edges of the city and the middle of it in its entirety, so that the sounds of Japan are white noise during nights like these, window filtering in azure blue and the orange of flickering streetlights. Oikawa had once told Iwaizumi, when they were not twenty-something but instead reckless teenagers, that he wants to live with the other boy for forever and ever. Admittedly at the time he sounded not at all serious about it, but he was. Is. 

Iwaizumi listened, as Iwaizumi always does. Maybe they won’t be able to live forever and ever, but Oikawa is willing to have this for the rest of his life, their own little forever and ever, where they can be infinity on the outskirts of the city.

Oikawa takes another small step, hissing softly when it makes a particularly loud creak. He goes silent for a bit, not daring to move; when the world falls silent along with him, he prepares to take another step—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Oikawa startles and spins around, catching a glimpse of Iwaizumi before he turns his head away. Damn it, he was caught. “I-Iwa-chan!” he whines. “You were just sleeping, like, two seconds ago! Why are you awake?”

“I—” Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in realization, before he shifts himself so he can sit up against the headboard, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. I fell asleep. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, eliciting a soft noise of disapproval from Oikawa. “I was trying to stay awake until you fell asleep. Sorry.”

Oikawa bites the inside of his cheek. “Iwa-chan, you’re allowed to sleep. Don’t lose sleep just because I can’t drift off.”

And he’s not looking at Iwaizumi, but he knows there’s a fond smile waiting for him, it’s in his voice and it’s coloring it pink. “Shittykawa, you’re _annoying_. I like watching you sleep, so that means you’re the one who has to fall asleep first.”

“ _Iwa-chan!_ ” 

With a small snort, Iwaizumi aims and tosses a pillow to Oikawa, just barely missing the boy as it collides with the wall instead. “Shut up, you’ll wake the whole apartment. And anyway, I asked you a question. What the hell are you doing?”

Oikawa pouts then, averting his eyes from the wall so he can sneak a peek at Iwaizumi—he swallows thickly when seeing the sleepiness pulling at the other’s features, and the way shades of periwinkle that are two shades too dark are sitting on his skin, decorating the boy nicely and pretty; because Iwaizumi is pretty, so irresistibly _pretty_ and Oikawa is a young fool who’s so in love that it makes his breath hitch and his heart hurt.

He blinks when Iwaizumi cocks an eyebrow, urging the other boy to provide him with an answer before his patience begins to run thin. 

“I was just gonna walk around,” Oikawa murmurs. He pouts even more once Iwaizumi’s face twists with an expression he can’t name. “I couldn’t sleep and you were holding me so _tight,_ Iwa-chan! I couldn’t breathe and my muscles started to hurt!”

(Oikawa didn’t mean it. Iwaizumi can hold him so tight that he was quite literally suffocating, but Oikawa will revel in it all the same.)

Iwaizumi purses his lips, which are drenched in pale moonlight and Oikawa tries not to think about how much he wants to kiss him. Instead he fixes a glare to Iwaizumi, one that the boy gives right back. 

Iwaizumi finally breaks the silence with a sigh, features softening, glare slipping from his face. “...You’re dumb, y’know that?” 

Ah. “You tend to remind me often, mean Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grumbles, petulant that his plan had been foiled. He was supposed to let Iwaizumi sleep, and anyway, Iwaizumi looked so damn beautiful with moonbeams kissing his face, that Oikawa wouldn’t mind staring at him for another few minutes. Hours, even. Years, if that was possible, but Iwaizumi can’t sleep for years and Oikawa isn’t sure if he can handle an asleep Iwa-chan for quite that long.

Now, though, Iwaizumi is awake, glowing violet with the blanket reaching his torso. He yawns cutely, and Oikawa’s heart launches through the roof. 

“Stop staring,” Iwaizumi grumbles, grumpy gaze flitting away from the brunet. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are the masters at the language of averted eyes, because both can’t handle being flustered—Oikawa’s pale skin makes it too easy to see the rouge that likes to pepper his cheeks in the most inconvenient of moments—and Iwaizumi always tends to look away when flustered, like he doesn’t want Oikawa to see the red dusting the tips of his ears and tip of his nose. Oikawa notices it anyway, because Oikawa notices everything about Iwaizumi, and so he notices when he’s tongue-tied and stumbling around his words like love chokes him up in the throat.

“I’m _nooooot staaaring_ ,” Oikawa whines again (an obvious lie), stomping his foot petulantly against the hardwood. “But it’s not fair for me to keep you up, too! That’s like, not equivalent exchange. And also, you also look really pretty when you’re sleeping, cute Iwa-chan, and—”

“Stop talking,” Iwaizumi groans, eyes narrowing in a way that makes moonlight bounce off the whites of his irises, and Oikawa thinks that his Iwa-chan really looks like some sort of angel. “And stop _pouting_. It’s annoying. Unless you want me to kiss that stupid pout off your face, huh?”

_So blatant—_

This time it’s Oikawa’s turn to stumble on his words. “Ah, oh, ha, jeez—Iwa-chan says some weird stuff during the late night hours, huh?”

Iwaizumi snorts, like he gets satisfaction from being able to make Oikawa turn such a shade of stupid pink, one that matches the cherry blossoms that drift when Japan starts to wake up and the orange streetlights start to fall asleep. It doesn’t take much for Oikawa to blush, anyway. One glance from Iwaizumi and he’s an absolute goner, heart still in the same place as it was since they were dumb children, safe in Iwaizumi’s hands.

They just look at each other for a couple of moments. Starlight tiptoes on Iwaizumi’s skin, delicate in all of its fragility on a man so broad, and Iwaizumi is looking at him with sharp eyes so adoring. And Oikawa thinks, _fuck, I’m in love._

He’s in love, and Iwaizumi makes him fall deeper so effortlessly, like he doesn’t know of the things he does to Oikawa’s painfully stuttering heart. It’s okay, though, because Iwaizumi loves him all the same; stuttering hearts beating in sync, fast and thundering. Stupid boys in love.

“I said stop staring,” Iwaizumi finally says, breaking the silence. He extends an arm, so inviting. “Come on, you dumbass. You look dumb just standing there.”

Everything else forgotten, Oikawa bounds over to Iwaizumi. He flops on the bed gracelessly, giggling when Iwaizumi rewards him with a small knock on the head for the way the bed bounces. 

He lets himself settle in the curve of Iwaizumi’s arm, supported by his biceps as they lean on the headboard. He fits perfectly, almost too perfectly; Iwaizumi always has a place in his arms reserved for one Oikawa Tooru, and even though Oikawa is still slightly taller he’s so _small_ when it comes to Iwaizumi.

They don’t talk, which is odd, but the good kind. Oikawa just wants this moment for himself. If that’s being selfish, then he’s damn selfish for wanting to just sit and breathe in Iwaizumi’s scent, troubled hearts beating together. He’s selfish because he wants Iwaizumi, wants the be the only one that he looks at, wants to be the only one who gets to see the way he glances at Oikawa with such firm gentleness, wants to be the only one that Iwaizumi’s lips get to touch. 

He wants to be the one Iwaizumi wants, too.

And when Iwaizumi presses his cheek against the top of Oikawa’s head, calloused fingers brushing against the other’s soft hand, there’s his silent answer. _You already are, dumbass._

Oikawa could fall asleep like this, for the first time tonight. He acknowledges this with a hum that’s softened by sleepiness, sinking further into Iwaizumi’s hold. Iwaizumi regards him with another one of those comforting strokes on his skin, fingertips tickling. 

He grows more alert when Iwaizumi suddenly tilts his head up with fingers suddenly slipping under his skin—and then his lonely lips are met with ones tasting like some mixture of lingering toothpaste and the remnants of vanilla chapstick, sweet, and Oikawa thinks he can taste a little bit of starlight there, too.

It’s chaste. They break away after a small second, and then suddenly his face is approximately an inch and a half away from his Iwa-chan’s; even in the pale moonlight he knows he can detect the faintest traces of crimson on the apples of his cheeks. 

(He loves him. He loves him so, so much.)

“...I said I would kiss that pout off your face, didn’t I?” is Iwaizumi’s gruff explanation, like the kiss needed any explanation in the first place. 

“But I wasn’t even pouting at the moment, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa laughs, giggle hitching a bit when Iwaizumi’s skin burns an even deeper shade of red. Oikawa doesn’t have any room to talk, not when he’s pretty sure his own skin is reflecting the same pink that dusts Iwaizumi’s cheeks.

“Keep saying shit like that and you won’t get anymore kisses.”

“ _Mean,_ Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi’s expression breaks then, gaze finding Oikawa’s again in some kind of shy manner, which is uncharacteristic but not so much. Iwaizumi is only shy when it comes to Oikawa, like when he’s having trouble expressing how he feels about him, or telling him what exactly he wants. (Stuff like “I want to kiss you.” or “You can fucking hug me, dumbass.”) Oikawa is a love language person, while Iwaizumi prefers to use his words, even if the both of them clam up when it comes to both of those things. 

It’s absurd, really, how terribly timid and flushed in their faces they still manage to get when it comes to each other. Like they’re still younger and go red when their pinkies just so happen to brush against one another’s, and even though the skinship is nothing new, it always _feels_ new. Every touch, every kiss and every loving word, is a new experience for Oikawa, one to nurture and tuck into the crevices in his mind and cherish for the rest of his life.

Iwaizumi can kiss him a hundred times over, or touch him with soft fingers on every inch of his skin, and Oikawa will still shudder and the roses will bloom on his cheeks each and every time.

(He loves him. He loves him so, so, so _much_.)

“And you’re staring again,” Iwaizumi deadpans. 

Oikawa blinks, tilting his head. Iwaizumi is still as close as ever, and there’s moonbeams dancing in his eyes. He feels a smile pull at his lips. “What? You gonna kiss the stare off my face, too?”

“Maybe.”

“...Oh—”

Iwaizumi, true to his word (or rather, lack thereof) leans in again. 

They kiss, and this time, it shatters the sky; the stars are falling and bouncing off milky skin—Iwaizumi’s bare arms, Oikawa’s fervently red-colored cheeks—soaking into them, so much that Oikawa leans further in and kisses Iwaizumi back with a passion, fueled by the moonshine that is making them glow. His eyes are closed but he sees Iwaizumi all too clearly in his mind, tanned skin illuminating cherry, soft breaths puffing, and he knows that he doesn’t want to open his eyes. He wants this. He wants Iwaizumi, and he wants, _needs_ , the way their lips slot together like they’ve never kissed before, even though they have a thousand times and more.

And like Iwaizumi, Oikawa is true to his word, as well; he shudders like it’s something new and flushes deeply like the feeling of Iwaizumi’s lips on his are a never-before felt experience.

There’s so much Oikawa wants to say, so much he’s feeling, so many emotions that he is absolutely brimming with. There are so many words just sitting in his throat waiting to be released, words like _I love you_ and _I love you so much_ and _please don’t let me go_ and _I love you_.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He doesn’t have the chance to, not when Iwaizumi is gasping softly into his mouth before their lips lock again, slower this time. Oikawa grunts when Iwaizumi’s fingers tug at the hair on the back of his neck, goosebumps littering his moonlit skin, and Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi with such fervor that he thinks they might both shatter just like the sky did.

The next time they pull apart, Iwaizumi’s lips go back in to linger on Oikawa’s cheek, a soft yet silent _I love you_ if Oikawa has ever known one. Each kiss, a new meaning; Iwaizumi pecks his forehead, _I love you_ , and then peppers kisses down to Oikawa’s neck, _I love you too,_ and then plants one on the corner of his eye, _I’m never going to let go,_ and then kisses his temple, _I love you more than words can ever express._

It’s them. Just them two, sitting in a bed of fallen stars as the faint sounds of Japan play as white noise, orange streetlights flickering brighter, _better,_ blinking along with the pounding of two swelling hearts.

Just them two. Oikawa likes the sound of that.

“ _Tooru,”_ Iwaizumi finally says, voice rough and yet so unbearably soft, like Oikawa’s name is something sacred, like it’s a prayer against his tongue. He looks at Oikawa for one split second before he pushes his face into the younger’s neck, face pressing against the crook there. “Tooru.”

Oikawa breathes. “Yeah.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, just lets his lips tenderly rove over the skin on Oikawa’s neck. Vanilla-flavored breaths puff gently, filling the empty spaces that the quiet city can’t provide. 

“Let’s go to sleep.”

Oikawa breathes, again, deeper. The taste of Iwaizumi is still on his tongue. “Yeah.”

They sink under the covers, moving together, even as the sky shudders in all of its split-open glory. Head now resting on the pillows, he really looks at Iwaizumi, no longer speaking the language of averted eyes because now Iwaizumi is all he wants to look at. He’s all that he wants. Every kiss, every single press of delicate lips on pearlescent skin, had told him that Iwaizumi wants him, too—he’ll want him forever and ever for as long as that may be.

He’s so fucking in love.

“ _Sleep,”_ Iwaizumi grumbles, hand snaking to the back of Oikawa’s head and pulling him close so that the other boy’s nose brushes against Iwaizumi’s chest, skin brushing against the soft fabric of a tank top. “It’s late and you’re annoying and I have to get up early, so go to sleep.”

“Iwa-chan’s so… _mean_ ,” Oikawa murmurs. He laughs a little, Iwaizumi’s hold tightening, stars fizzling on pale skin. “Calling me annoying, after we just kissed that much.”

“Oh my fu—shut _up._ ”

Oikawa laughs again. Iwaizumi’s words are brusque but actions are tainted tender, and this much is evident when he begins to lightly tug on Oikawa’s hair, kneading it and carding through the brunet locks, because he knows that it helps him go to sleep faster. The thought alone makes Oikawa’s heart ache, and even though its beating has slowed down, it still thunders in his chest cavity with no remorse, pumping adoration through his veins and making his head feel so thick that he might just forget to breathe.

If Iwaizumi is melted silver, Oikawa is gold; malleable and pliant and shimmeringly beautiful. 

Even as they’re drifting off, Oikawa traces patterns into Iwaizumi’s back, drawing things like hearts and words and phrases he couldn’t express out loud. Iwaizumi knows what he means, though. Knows that Oikawa feels like he’s a teenager again and is falling in love, because Iwaizumi is his teenage dream, so pretty and gorgeous and everything in between.

He feels like infinity. 

“I love you, y’know that, Trashykawa?” Iwaizumi finally says, chest rumbling with the words. His voice gets carried by warm winds and gets lost in the folds of the night, but Oikawa heard him all too clear. “Seriously, Tooru, you annoying shit.”

Oikawa’s heart bursts. 

He falls asleep soon after, under that split-open sky, with butterflies of moonlight ghosting against his warm skin. It’s easy to drift this time around, especially when Iwaizumi brushes some hair off Oikawa’s forehead before tilting his head down and granting the boy with a final kiss to the forehead.

(His heart swells, bursts again, and thunders heavily for a few moments before it quiets along with the white noise of the resting city.)

**Author's Note:**

> hiii u made it! hope u enjoyed :D
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated :D


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